"No, it's okay Buffy. I'm fine. Really," I insisted, croaking. Even though I wasn't and felt like I was going to pass out from the pain that every word caused me. But I wanted to be fair. "You guys just have a good time killing some bad. It's pretty important, right?"

I could hear Buffy breathe on the other end of the phone, and she sounded nervous. "Well, okay," she gave reluctantly. "It's just that you looked so awful when I saw you before."

Despite the pain, I smiled to myself. "Well, gee. Love you too," I answered stuffily.

Buffy laughed. "I didn't mean it like that, you know I didn't. Listen, since Giles is staying in town for more research, I'm going to have him check on you, okay?" She rushed on before I could object. "Just a once or twice tonight and then a few times tomorrow."

"Buffy..." I heard whining in my voice and cringed at it. I felt like I was six years old again, instead of the twenty I really was, saying, 'Mom, I don't want to go see the doctor!' Seeing Giles had become to make me nervous in a way that made me nervous to be. I just looked forward to seeing him so *much*, that I was starting to make myself uncomfortable.

"It's not up for discussion," she said firmly. "I'm calling him right now before I leave. Will you be all right for an hour or two on your own?"

I nodded-- I was getting sleepy, and who was I to fight with a Slayer?-- and looked around my messy apartment, sighing. I'd been sick for two days and already it looked like zombies had wrecked the place.

"Well?" she prompted.

I blushed, though she couldn't see me. "Sorry. I was nodding. Yes, I'll be fine. I'm a big girl, Buffy. You guys go at it, okay? Slay something."

I could hear her grin over the phone lines. "Just for you," she promised.

We disconnected, and not a moment too soon. My head hit the arm of my couch wearily and my throat was throbbing with a terrible pain. I groaned out loud and then clapped my hand over my mouth, mentally cursing myself for making any sort of noise with my injured voice. I decided to close my eyes, even though sleep would most likely be impossible.

I was wrong. I was asleep in minutes.

The next thing I saw was a face looming over me. I couldn't help it; I panicked. I swatted at the person frantically, shoving him away from me. I heard him tumble to the ground and then let out a very British sounding, "Oomf!" I sat up, blinking.

"I'm *so* sorry Giles..." He looked incredibly attractive, all sprawled out on my floor... I shook the thought out of my head before it could take root. I yawned, then winced. Even that hurt my throat. He lifted himself up, looking at me in concern.

"I apologize for startling you. Are you all right?"

"Yes." My teeth chattered from the sudden chill that came over me, and I looked around for a blanket to wrap around myself. Giles saw my search and lifted up an afghan that was draped over a chair and brought it to me. I started to reach for it, but he shook his head, smiling and "tsk-ing at me, and began to tuck me in underneath it.

I laid still and watched him, a warm feeling spilling over in my heart as he paid careful attention to my warmth and security.

After I was tucked to his satisfaction, he sat on the edge of the couch and looked down at me. "Warm?"

I nodded. "Better."

"Is there anything I can get you?" he offered.

"No, I don't think so." I let my voice drop to a whisper, because it hurt so much when I talked. "Thanks, though. Shouldn't you be researching something?" As if he couldn't help it, his eyes wandered over to the coffee table. I followed them; They led to a pile of books stacked on its surface, and yellowed sheets from ancient texts. My eyes flew back up to his face. "But, Giles..." I started to protest, ignoring the pain that those two words brought me.

"Hush, now, Willow," he murmured quietly. "Talking can't be good for your throat. I won't have you arguing with me, I'm staying here and that's that," he said, enunciating the last word so that I would be sure to understand that he was serious. He placed my hand against my forehead worriedly and I shivered again-- This time from a pleasant feeling. His brows knitting together, he turned towards the table and looked around for a minute before he could find the thermometer that was hidden amongst the mess of used Kleenexes and cough drops. Snatching it up, he promptly placed it under my tongue.

"You're running a fever," he explained simply. I nodded, my eyes watery and my throat itching. "And, I won't have any more trouble researching here than I would at my apartment. We're on different floors of a building, not on different streets. If I need another book, I'll just run down to get it." He smiled, the smile I had learned to love so much, intending to soothe me.

It worked. I was instantly soothed.

I fell asleep quickly again, reassured by just having him there. My dreams, though, were much worse than my waking hours. I'd always hated being sick because, not only did I feel like I was going to die, but my dreams were so terrible.

They came in flashes. Some seemed long, some short, but all of them were, ironically enough, about Giles. In one, he looked at me seriously and leaned down to kiss my forehead and I realized that he was dead-- The living dead. In another, I was getting chased by some floating pencils, and Giles died for me. A lot of them were like that.

But there was one that wasn't.

All I can remember about that one was its niceness. Giles hugging me, holding my hand when I screamed. I don't know why I was screaming, but it didn't matter because he was there. He kept saying, "Don't worry, little one. I love you..." My heart whispered things to me that I had blocked before, letting me know something that I had thought I wasn't ready to. I tried to tell him that I loved him back, but he wouldn't listen, and told me not to talk. And then my vision wavered, and I was in a different dream.

We were kissing. His mouth was moving softly against mine; not eager or demanding, just a light, loving caress. I cried out quietly, a little moan of happiness, and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him even closer to me. He felt so solid in my arms, touching my hair lightly, sweetly, unlike any other dream I'd ever had, and the realization unnerved me.

It startled me so much that I woke up.

Giles was already at my side, looking down into my eyes and brushing my hair away from my face tenderly. "Nightmare?" he guessed. I dropped my arms from his-- I had been clutching at him like I had in the dream. How perfectly disconcerting and humiliating.

"N-no. Not a nightmare," I corrected shakily. "Well, some nightmares. One good dream. Very real dream. So totally way real. I'm talking very real. Sort of confusing, but..." I cut my babble short, understanding what I had been about to say.

His eyebrows lifted. "But...?"

"Nice," I managed softly. "Way nice."

"Was I there?" he asked quietly. I looked at him, horrified. Had I said something embarrassing in my sleep??

"What?"

"In your nightmares," he went on. "You said my name once... You sounded scared." I looked down, not wanting to tell him what I had been dreaming about-- in any of my dreams. He lifted my chin with his finger, gently, and made me meet his eyes. "What happened?"

"Oh..." I let out a tired sigh, realizing that my throat didn't hurt so much. "You died to save me from something. It was..."

"Natural," he said firmly. I looked at him, surprised, so he elaborated. "Nightmares of the father figure dying... All that. It's normal, Willow. And I'm here, and just fine." He said the words almost as if they were hurting him, and I suddenly wanted nothing more than to hug him, to be back in that wonderful dream where everything seemed to fit so well. He took my hand to prove how real he was.

I could only think of one thing, my mind stuck on that one sentence. "Giles, you're not my father figure."

I lost sight of his eyebrows, they shot so far up his forehead. He shoved his glasses up his nose and looked away. "I see."

"No!" I rushed to tell him what I meant, "It's just... not like that with us, Giles. I mean, with Buffy it is, sure. Even with Xander and Oz and Cordelia. I think, in a weird way, with Angel, too. But... Not with us. We're... just different."

He just stared at me. "How?" I heard something in his voice, and couldn't place it. It sounded almost like... Hope?

I blushed. How was I supposed to explain that I wanted something that seemed impossible and just plain strange? How was I supposed to tell him about the dreams, the feelings that had been haunting me for months and months? "We just are. Friends. But we don't have a father, daughter thing going for us."

His eyes were a somber green-gray, and I felt like I could melt into them. "Is there a particular reason why that would be undesirable?"

"A lot of reasons," I mumbled, picking at a loose thread on my blanket.

A slow, almost... sensual smile came over his face and he nodded. "I happen to agree. I'm not offended," he assured me in a sexy voice. Was my fever making me imagine Giles as a sex god all of the sudden? I had to stifle a sigh. He continued, in the same growling voice, "Not in the least."

Turning away for a second, he lifted a cup of something from the little table. "Here, drink this. It should make your throat feel better, soothe your tonsils a bit."

I took a sip and wrinkled my nose; It tasted like whisky, and a little bit like honey and mints. "Tonsils?" I asked after a moment.

He nodded decisively. "I think you have tonsillitis. You should heal quite nicely after this, but if you get sick again you should definitely see if they need to be taken out."

I shuddered. "I hate surgery."

"If you liked," he offered quietly, "I would come with you, should you need it."

"I think I would," I mumbled, still blushing warmly. His hand lightly trailed across my cheek, the feeling left a cool ghost on my skin. I was already starting to get tired again, but I didn't want him to go. Selfish as it was, even though he needed to be researching things to save the world, I wanted to know that he was nearby, in case I needed him... For one reason or another. "Will you stay with me as I sleep?"

He smiled gently, the expression bordering on a grin. "There's no way you could make me leave."